But she gave a soft moan as he touched her, circled erotic patterns just above the swell of her breast, pressed a kiss on that dainty, lovely mound.
"Beautiful," he breathed against her fevered skin. "Ah... Ash, you're so damned... beautiful. I've lain awake night after night, imagining you like this, in my arms, imagining how you would look. How you would feel." With a reverence that stunned him he eased the nightgown down the pale curves of her shoulders, letting it wisp down her body to pool in a puddle of white at her feet. He took a step back, his gaze trailing down her slender, naked form, his mouth going dry.
She looked like the fairy princess he had named her, ethereal, enchanted, for no mere mortal could hold such mystical beauty.
In all his fantasies he'd never imagined such perfection, the small, dainty breasts crowned with impudent rose nipples, the delicate rib cage, the waist so small he could span it in his big hands. Womanly hips curved delectably below, giving way to long, slim legs Garret ached to feel twined around him. At their apex downy dark-gold curls caught the moonlight, sparks of light seeming trapped there like morning dew, beckoning him, welcoming him.
Slowly Garret raised his eyes to her face, searching for the words to express how lovely he found her. But he had never had Kennisaw's gift for casting out blithe phrases, poetical speeches designed to make women swoon. Garret had only his art, and he knew full well that no master who had ever lived could have captured the wonder of Ashleen O'Shea garbed in nothing but moonlight.
He reached out and took her hand, guiding her down onto the tumbled softness of his bedroll, but when he moved to follow her she stopped him, pressing one warm palm to the flat plane of his belly.
"Wait." The plea was tremulous, yet it vibrated with such longing Garret felt its fire deep in his loins. "I want—want to see you, too. All of you." Her fingertips trailed down the rough denim encasing his leg. "You're so beautiful, Garret MacQuade."
Struggling to swallow, Garret moved his hands to the fly of his denims, but small, warm fingers closed over his, moving his hands away. When her fingers brushed him, feather-light, through the worn cloth, he felt he would explode, just that tiniest of caresses driving him to madness. Gritting his teeth, he steeled himself for the sweet, sweet torment to come.
He watched her, loving her so much he burned with it, as she caught her bottom lip between small white teeth, the gesture bewitchingly childlike as her hands worked the fastenings of his trousers. He was hard, so damn hard with wanting her, and it was as if she had gazed into some fairy pond, unlocked some sorceress's secrets on how to make a man her slave.
Garret's mouth twisted with a pleasure so sharp he couldn't bear it when she worked the last button free, laying open the folds of fabric to reveal the under-drawers beneath.
Just the tips of her fingers whispered over his rigid flesh, learning the length of him, the feel of him through the thin layer of muslin. Then she tugged on the drawstring caught low beneath his navel, and the night air curled cool around his white-hot, aching flesh.
She hooked her fingers in the waistband, working both his denims and the drawers beneath them down the taut curve of his buttocks, the lean planes of his hips.
With lightning-swift movements he rid himself of the rest of his clothes, casting them aside.
Then he was lying beside her on the rough wool blankets, kissing her, plundering that sweet mouth with his own.
He had thought he'd known what passion was, but he'd never suspected the power it could wield as his hands moved hungrily over her supple flesh. She was everything that was beautiful in a world that had shown him only pain. But even the agonies he had suffered were worth it if they allowed him to make love to Ashleen O'Shea for just one glorious night.
He shuddered, his tongue mating with hers in a primitive rhythm that presaged the mating of their bodies. She met him stroke for stroke, her hands so eager yet so innocent as she sculpted the sinews and cords of his muscles, the taut plane of his hip. "You feel... feel so good," she murmured as he pulled away to blaze a trail of hungry kisses to the fragile skin between her breasts. "So hard, so strong... like velvet and steel. I love you, Garret, love you so much."
Her words snapped something deep inside Garret, emotions he'd never even known he'd possessed rushing through him with the force of a flash flood, tearing away the last vestiges of control. He tried to cling to the knowledge of how small she was, how fragile, but her hands were urging him with incredible strength, her body crying out to him for the most wild of possessions.
He had to be inside her.
In one swift movement he was between her thighs, pressing the pale lengths apart. There had been no gentle probing readying her for that part of him that seemed to pulse with flame. But he staked his arms on either side of her, staring deep into those glowing blue eyes as he thrust his hips forward, sheathing himself in the moist welcome of her.
Sensation jolted through him, her whimper of pleasure heating his flesh, her head arching back, her hands wild with need. He wanted to be everything she needed. Wanted to be good for her. But he was beyond thinking, beyond reason, beyond anything but sating the relentless desires she had loosed in him.
He thrust once, twice, arching his head back with a cry of stark animal pleasure as his whole body convulsed, spilling his seed deep within her. Shudder after shudder rocked him, tore at him, until at last he buried his face in the tumbled waves of her hair, his eyes burning, his throat thick with words he could never say.
Then the shame came, the certainty that somehow he had failed the woman even now stroking the nape of his neck.
"Damn it, Ash, I... I'm sorry," he grated into the fragrant torrent of curls. "It was too... too fast."
"It was the most wonderful thing I've ever known."
Her words were soft, tender, and he couldn't stop himself from lifting his head to stare into that winsome wood-sprite face. His heart lurched as the moon glow tangled in the crystal droplets clinging to her cheeks, lips still reddened by the fury of his kisses trembling.
"You're crying." Garret swore. "Damn it, I deserve to be horsewhipped for—for taking you like that."
"You foolish, foolish man," Ashleen whispered, caressing his cheek with her fingers. "Don't you know why I'm crying? Because you wanted me, Garret. Wanted me so much that you... you..." A raw little sob rippled from her throat, mingled with the sweetest of laughter. "What greater gift could a man give a woman than this?" She drew her fingertips away from his skin and laid them softly on his lips.
Garret felt something clench in his gut as he tasted the salt of his own hidden tears.
"Make love to me again, Garret," Ashleen breathed, taking his hand in hers, guiding it to her breast. "I want... want to feel you inside me again. As if I can carry you with me always."
Ashleen held her breath long moments as Garret's hand warmed her flesh, unmoving, those gunmetal eyes gazing into hers.
